The Victor Who Went Mad
by madasapirate
Summary: Seventeen year old Annie Cresta, who resides in District 4, is perfectly ordinary. That all changes the day of the Reaping for the 70th Annual Hunger Games. With the help of her mentors, particularly the infamous Finnick Odair with who the forms an unexpectend bond, she attempts to do what she thought she never could: win the Games and survive. But at what cost?
1. Chapter One: What If?

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any rights to The Hunger Games. All rights go to Suzanne Collins. I just play with her creations. :)**

**Hello, everyone! I'm not completely sure I'll be writing more of this or not, but for a long time I've just really wanted to write a little something about Annie. I guess it just depends on how inspired I get? Anyway, hope you enjoy!  
>-Cee<strong>

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><p><strong>The Victor Who Went Mad<br>By: madasapirate**

**Chapter One: What If?**

I toss around in my small mattress. No one sleeps the night before the reaping for many reasons: parents terrified that they will hear their child's name being boomed from the microphone, the children themselves terrified they will hear their own name, and the children who are preparing to volunteer to enter the Games willingly.

I am certainly not preparing to volunteer. I know my district is one of the three that produced "careers," but I have never actually known any of the kids who have volunteered personally. And kids don't volunteer every year, anyway; it all depends on who is being trained and how far along they are in their skills. Or so I hear. I don't care to keep up with the inner workings of preparing for the Hunger Games. I don't like to think about it at all. People are always trying to engage in conversation with me about the Games, and I will pretend to listen, secretly thinking of ways to go escape to the docks where I can dip my ankles into the warm water.

As I lay here in my futile attempts at sleep, I'm almost tempted to sneak out of my house and do just that. But I don't want to risk running into Peacekeepers; especially the night before Reaping day. So instead, I open my small window and breathed in the familiar scent of salty ocean air for a moment, letting the wind brush against my face. I look out into the street, noting that not a single soul is out about roaming in District 4 tonight.

With a sigh, I go back to bed, leaving the window open. I let the sound of the bell buoys lull me to sleep.

The next morning, I wake to the sounds of my mother preparing tonight's dinner. As if my mother hears me stir, I hear her call, "Make sure to take a bath, Annie. And pick out something nice to wear. And pull your hair back."

I shake my head to myself. Why can't my mom realize that after four years of already hearing this, I have got the routine down? I bathe, I pick out my nicest dress, I pull back my long brown hair, and then when my mother realizes how awful my hair styling is, she take matters into her own hands and brushes every wave out until my scalp hurts.

After all these steps are done, we sit down together with my dad for a quick breakfast before heading to the square for the Reaping. We don't say much as we eat. What is there to say? We already knew what one another are thinking.

_What if? What if? What if?  
><em>

It's in my tremendous favor that I have never had to take out tesserae. My family's income isn't fabulous, but it's steady and it keeps us going. My father works in the canning factory. And, living in District 4, you really aren't in danger of starving if you know how to fish. And _everybody _knows how to fish in 4.

"Do you think anyone will volunteer this year?" my mom asks my dad, who just shrugs. He, like myself, doesn't care too much about knowing who is and isn't trying to compete in the Games. He thinks they are all lunatics.

"I'm so glad this is Jemma's last year," I interject, gaining a smile from both parents.

Jemma is one of my oldest childhood friends. Just one year older than me, we're alike in a lot of ways. Jemma is also dark haired like me, but instead of sea green eyes like myself, Jemma's are a pretty dark blue color that I have always thought make her look mysterious. Jemma is also a lot less shy than me, not afraid to speak up if she disagrees with something or to talk to that one cute boy from school. Jemma is eighteen now and after today would never again have to be in the Reaping.

"And only one more year for you!" My mother says, her smile faltering just a little.

_What if? Six Annie Crestas in the bowl. What if?_

My father looked at the clock on the wall. "We'd better get going."

As we are heading out the door, I get one last look at myself in the mirror in the hall. My waves were indeed brushed into a puffy mess, but at least up in a bun at the back of my head, no one can see. I wear a modest deep green dress with capped sleeves. I don't really see myself as pretty or ugly. I really don't worry too much about my appearance at all. I am what I am; can't change it. I do like my eyes, though, as I recieve quite a lot of compliments for them.

It isn't until the square is in my sight that the panic really begins to set in. I hate this, every bit of it. I hate how the people walk, like robots. I hate having to see kids crying, holding onto their parents and having peacekeepers drag them to the line to be registered, and the consequential screaming that followed. I hate all the cameras, knowing the Capital will be watching.

"I'm going to find Jemma," I announce, hugging my parents quickly before setting off to find my friend. I never give my parents reason to think I am worried. But I am. Just a little.

_What if?_

I refuse to look back at them, for I know their faces will have their worries written all over them. I wouldn't be able to stand it. I just want this to be over already.

After registering, I manage to find Jemma in the crowd of girls on the right side. Jemma is looking pale; unusual to see on her normally tanned complexion.

"Hey, Annie."

"Hi," I say, giving Jemma a hug. "Were you able to sleep last night?"

A shake of her head confirms no. "You?"

"A little."

She leans in close to whisper, "Hear if anybody is volunteering?"

I suppress the urge to scream. Is that all anybody can ask? "No, I haven't heard anything."

Jemma sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm scared, Annie."

I rub circles on her back, trying my hardest to be comforting. "It's going to be fine, Jem. You just have to get through this one more time."

Jemma shakes her head, scoffing. "No, not really. I'll have kids and then I'll have to go through this hell all over again." She shudders. "It'll be even worse then."

I frown, thinking of how I really didn't say something other than goodbye to my own parents. But I never do, because if I let myself say anything, I would just start crying and have panic attack. But is that horribly selfish of me? Not trying to reassure them?

"Don't have kids then," I joke as an attempt to lighten the mood. It doesn't work.

"Oh, I'll have kids. You'll have kids. We all do. We all do so this Game can go on forever."

"Hush!" I urge, for Jemma isn't exactly keeping her voice to a minimum anymore. Jemma only gets this sour on Reaping day. And when Jemma is sour, she lets it known. But here isn't the place or time.

Jemma is about to reply when the anthem begins to play. We haven't even noticed that the large platform has begun to fill. I cast a quick view of the people on stage. There is of course the District 4 escort, Lynx, who is appropriately named, for she has reconstructed her face to appear like a feline. Her ears are elongated, her eyes yellow, her skin tattooed in a patchy pattern. She even has orange whiskers with match her wild hair. Then there is the mayor, and of course our Victors.

I smile when I see Mags, District 4's oldest living Victor. I have never met Mags in person, but she always seems real sweet and honest in interviews through the years. I can't imagine how such a gentle looking lady could have won the Hunger Games.

Currently, Mags is smiling at her neighbor seated beside her, patting his arm affectionately. Finnick Odair smiles back, saying something that only Mags can hear. Mags laughes.

I also can't understand the obvious connection this old woman has with the most desired young man in all of Panem. Finnick is pretty impressive. I'm curious how in the world a fourteen-year-old boy could do the things he could do with that trident. Now, at nineteen, he is more than impressive. He is striking. Even without his charisma and charm, Finnick Odair is exceptionally handsome.

Of course, I have never met him either. He's lived in the capital since he was sixteen, and before then, I'd never seen him around. It is a pretty big district. Anyway, while I do admire his obvious good looks, I never really sat around gossiping about him and thinking of what I would say to him if I got the chance to like other girls in school did.

The mayor then stands and speaks into the microphone, giving the usual speech that all of the kids have long since memorized. I tune him out. But when Lynx appears before the microphone, I'm alert as ever.

No one is breathing.

"Welcome!" she beams. "It seems like only yesterday we were here last year, and here we are again! I know you're all as eager as I am to see who will be representing District 4 in the 70th Annual Hunger Games!" There are a few murmurs of excitement.

Lynx gives another few empty remarks before heading to the boy's bowl of names. I swallow hard. I'm really not close with any one boy, but I know a lot.

"Nixon Lowlry!'

Everyone gasps. I don't, but Jemma beside me has put a hand over her mouth in horror. I look around to the boy's side, brows furrowed, trying to get a view of this boy and why everyone is exceptionally alarmed. But no one is approaching the stage.

"What's going on?" I whisper ever so silently to Jemma. "Why is everyone so upset?" Jemma just stares ahead, shaking her head.

"Nixon Lowlry!" Lynx calls again, looking to the peacekeepers for help. "Where are you, sweetling?"

A peacekeeper goes to the crowd, and one boy immediately speaks out to him. "Nixon is deaf…he can't hear her calling his name."

Now it is my turn to gasp. This is bad. This is especially horrible. They can't make him do this!

But they do. After a couple of moments, a slim figure appears from the crowd, a top of sun bleached hair on his head. He must be no older than fifteen. I can't really read his face from this distance, but I'm sure he's in shock.

It's all so horrible. He'll never be able to survive this! How can he? He needs to be able to hear in the Arena, desperately! My lips begin to quiver for this poor, poor boy when Lynx heads over to the girl's bowl.

I'm still so caught up in how terrible Nixon's fate is when Lynx calls out the female tribute.

"Annie Cresta!"

Out of habit, out of a stupid, embarrassing reflex, I look up and say, "Yes?" As if I am in class in school. As if this is not someone calling my name to die.

Every eye has turned on me. The camera soon follows. And then all of Panem.


	2. Chapter Two: Goodbye, District 4

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any rights to The Hunger Games. All rights go to Suzanne Collins. I just play with her creations. :)**

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><p><strong>The Victor Who Went Mad<br>Chapter Two: Goodbye, District 4**

My name, I've read, means graceful. This, in my opinion, has always been in contrast with who I actually am. I am not graceful. I'm just ordinary. I'm just Annie Cresta, daughter of a canner, citizen of District 4.

So, when the moment comes when I am no longer just Annie, but a tribute, I once again prove how ungraceful I really am. I prove I am in no shape to be these Games. I prove they will eat me alive.

I'm crying as I stand on the platform, in front the people of District 4, in front of Panem. I don't really remember the moments from when I idiotically said, "Yes?" to now. I must have realized that it was my name being reaped. I must have moved my legs to walk through the crowd of girls and up onto the platform.

Did I? What if this is still the night before the Reaping, and I'm lying in my covers, listening to the bell buoys? What if this is all just some terrible dream?

"Here they are," says a female voice dramatically from somewhere. "Your tributes from District 4 for the 70th Annual Hunger Games: Nixon Dowlrey and Annie Cresta!"

Applause. This is good? Why do they all clap? I don't remember clapping at the Reapings before. Maybe I did because it's expected. I really can't remember.

She tells us to shake hands with one another. I feel a clammy hand in mine. We don't look at each other.

"Happy Hunger Games!" Lynx cheers. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

I see Lynx appear before me from blurry, tear clouded eyes. She's telling me something and then I'm being lead into a building, and then a room.

Where am I?

_Focus, Annie. _

I blink, trying to concentrate. Blue walls, tan couch. Justice Building? I nod to myself. Yes, I'm in the Justice Building. They have brought me here to say goodbye to my family and friends.

The word 'goodbye' bounces around in my head. How do I say it?

Then, all of the sudden the door is opening and I see my parents. Something like a howl emerges from my chest and I'm throwing myself into their arms, sobbing. And they're sobbing. We cover each other with our tears.

"Baby, listen to me." I hear my father say. "Annie, listen. You are stronger than you think you are. You—" he breaks off in another sob. "You have excellent mentors. Listen to them, learn from them."

I nod, appeasing him. But I know it is no good. I have never trained. No amount of excellent mentors can make up for that fact. I'm not trained to survive. Why? Why did I never learn? How stupid is that? It's only logical to. Every year they call a name. How did I never fully consider, outside of Reaping day, that they might call my name?

My mother can't speak; all she does is squeeze me and wails these horrible noises. I don't think she will let go. They will have to pry her off of me.

And they do. The Peacekeepers barge in and take them, and I still can't say goodbye. Neither can they.

Before I can even blink, they're gone. And I know I will never see them again. This realization oddly makes the tears stop. It makes everything stop, actually. No fear, nothing. I feel absolutely nothing. I don't even feel hurt when Jemma doesn't come to see me. Maybe she can't say goodbye either. It's probably better that way, anyhow.

Suddenly, I'm being loaded into the backseat of a car with Lynx and Nixon. I look around me, frightened. How did I get here? Just one second ago I was in the Justice Building. Time is moving quicker.

"Well, this is all thrilling, isn't it?" Lynx says, looking satisfied. "You two are part of something larger than I'm sure you can understand. It truly is an honor. "

I wish I were deaf like Nixon. But maybe even then it would be no good. He stares at Lynx, and I get the feeling he can lip-read well because he looks disgusted. His eyes meet mine, and the message is clear.

_I'm sorry. _

Lynx tells us there will be cameras at the train station and to let them record us for a few moments before boarding. The warning doesn't help. I'm overwhelmed by how many there are waiting for us. I stand, stoically, until Lynx leads us onto the train.

Once onboard, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. The train car is beautiful. Plush sofas, rich embroidered throw pillows, lush carpets underfoot…so many pretty things. It's overwhelming, and I long for the simple furniture in my house. I sit down in a chair, staring out the window as the train begins to move.

I don't know how long I sit there. I do know I see my home sweeping past me. I look at the ocean in which I've been raised. I inhale and grimace. The train car has a sweet perfume smell to it; so different from the comforting salt smell of the ocean. As I think of it, I realize that we have already left behind all that is familiar to me. No more sea. No more sand.

Then, someone sits down on the sofa across from me. At first all I can take in is bronze hair and green eyes. Eyes like mine. Eyes the color of home.

What home? I'm homeless now, I remind myself.

"Finnick Odair," I say. "You're taller in person."

He grins, white teeth shining. "Annie, isn't it?"

I nod, looking back out the window. A blur of colors whip past. It makes me dizzy and suddenly I think I'm going to be sick.

Finnick must see me turning green because he barks at someone for a bucket. I think they must take an ice bucket because I hear scattering sounds, like rocks hitting the ground.

Right in time, Finnick holds the bucket before me and I'm throwing up my breakfast. My eyes water and tears fall as I heave and heave until it's painful.

I feel soft hands on my shoulders, and hear a gentle woman's voice. "Just get it all out, honey. We'll have them give you something to help."

I don't know who she is, but her hands are soothing and soon my stomach has quit contracting. Finnick hands me a handkerchief to wipe my mouth, from which saliva has been drooling unattractively. Under normal circumstances, drooling in front of Finnick Odair would be humiliating.

I clean my face up, and I know I'm shaking. The woman comes around from behind and I see that it is Mags. She has a sweet, lined face. Her eyes have lost most of their color, resulting in a grey shade that matches her hair.

Lynx appears next to Mags, holding two tablets in her palm, along with a glass of water. "Here, take these. It will help you stomach." Her lips curl as she glances down at the bucket Finnick has handed to an assistant. Finnick himself looks unbothered by it. He's undoubtedly seen it all.

I hesitate to take the tablets.

"Don't worry," Finnick says gently, retaking his seat across from me. "They wont hurt you, just might make you a little tired. You could do with a good nap, anyway."

Sleep, yes. That does sound nice. I take the water and tablets from Lynx, who walks away immediately, apparently put out by the whole situation.

"I hope I never wake up…" I hear myself say before swallowing the pills.

Finnick smiles again. "But then how would you be able to have the pleasure to have me teach you my trade secrets?"

"Secrets of the Arena or secrets of your life story?" I ask boldly.

He smirks, and shrugs his broad shoulders. "Whatever we have time for, I suppose."

"Yeah, sure." I say sarcastically. Because I know there is no way Finnick Odair is going to share his life secrets with little Annie Cresta.

"Would you like me to show you to your room, sweetheart?" Mags suggests, and I nod. She helps me to my feet, and we're leaving the car.

"Don't wish your life away, Annie." Finnick calls from the sofa, looking me straight in the eyes. "It's not over."

I smile sadly. "But it is over." And Mags leads me to my room where I crash, praying I don't wake despite Finnick's encouragement.

I wake to the sound of knocking, and when I open my eyes, I find the room dark.

"Dinner is being served in thirty minutes, Annie!" I hear Lynx's voice announce. "You may take a shower and change clothes if you'd like. In fact, I strongly recommend it. You were sick earlier, remember?"

How could I forget?

I strip off my green dress and underclothes, which I'm sure, smells vile. I walk into the adjoining bathroom and find like everything else, it's nothing less than perfect. It takes me a while to figure out how to control the faucets that dispense not only water, but also a multitude of soaps and scrubs. Tears come to my eyes when I find one that almost smells like the homemade seaweed soap I use at home. I lather it all over my skin from temples to toes, enveloping me in the scent. I even go ahead and shave my legs and underarms, something not so uncommon in District 4. It feels better once I'm clean.

After drying off from huge heated fans, I walk back into my room and look in the dressers they have provided me with. I pick out a soft, sleeveless blue top and a dark blue skirt that reaches down to just above my knees. I don't bother putting on any shoes.

The door knocks again and it's Lynx again, come to escort me to dinner.

"Are you feeling better?" She asks, but not kindly.

"Yes, thank you." I reply.

We walk into the dining car, where Nixon, Mags, and Finnick are waiting for us. It's only then that Lynx has noticed my lack of shoes. She gasps, horrified.

"Young lady, why aren't you wearing any shoes!?"

I sit down at an empty sit next to Nixon, across from Mags and Finnick.

"I don't need them. I hardly ever wear shoes…" I look around me, noting Lynx shaking her head. "You don't wear shoes a lot in District Four.."

I look to Finnick for confirmation, and he's nodding, a fond smile on his face.

"It's true, Lynx." He says. "We're somewhat barbaric and wild in that way." He turns to me. "You should have seen the terror in my prep team's face in my Games. They had to buff all the callouses off my feet. I felt like they'd might as well chopped off my—"

"Finnick, stop." Mags is scolding him, her arm jabbing him roughly, and suddenly Finnick is laughing at her and me, for I'm blushing because I have a strong suspicion of what he was going to say. It's confirmed when Finnick gives me a wink from across the table. My face reddens further, I'm sure.

"Oh, Finnick, you are terrible…" Lynx is purring, and something in the way she says it makes me uncomfortable.

"Stop," Mags insists to them both. "You're making the children feel awkward."

I look at Nixon, who actually looks amused. He must really be great at being able to read lips. He catches me staring at glances at me, and this is the first time we've locked eyes since the car.

I don't know what to say.

"Hey," he says, and I'm so surprised to hear it I gasp. He laughs an easy laugh. "I wasn't always deaf. So talking is pretty simple."

Other than his voice being a little off, he sounds perfectly normal. I smile the best I can.

"Oh. I'm sorry for being surprised…I just…" I don't even know if I'm speaking slow enough. Do I need to prolong my words?

He waves me off. "Don't worry about it."

The weight from earlier crashes back down onto my chest. If only this were just a train ride somewhere pleasant with a friendly group of people. But it's not. I suddenly wonder how I've been so calm since I've awoken from my nap.

My eyes narrow, speculating there was more to those tablets than helping my stomach.

The servers bring us many courses, and I end up looking at the food with suspicion. What else have they put in here?

"We haven't laced the food, Annie." Finnick says, reading my mind.

"You also said those tablets wouldn't hurt me," I throw back, sitting back in my chair, arms crossed.

"And they didn't, did they?" He challenges.

"No, they took away my fear."

Finnick shrugs. "What's wrong with that?"

"I'd like to keep what little I have left."

Finnick sighs heavily and puts down his fork. When he sets his eyes on me, I shrink. I feel so weak in his presence.

"Listen to me," Finnick demands, snapping his fingers in Nixon's direction so he will have his attention as well, so Nixon can watch him speak. "I said it earlier and I'll say it again: _your life is not over. _You are both still alive. I will not lie to you and say you will both live, because you wont. One of you will die." The words hang in the air cruelly and I wonder why he has to state the painfully obvious to us. But then he continues.

"But one of you can live. And it's our job," he motions to Mags and himself, "to guide you, to teach you. It's our job to help you when you're in that arena. It's our job to remind you that you are not alone in this. But you have to decide if you think your life is worth enough to fight for. I can't do that for you." He sits back in his chair, his eyes going from Nixon's to mine and back again.

'_You have excellent mentors. Listen to them, learn from them.'_ I hear my father's voice tell me.

I stare at him in wonder, my mouth going slack. For the first time I look at Finnick Odair not as someone who is plainly gorgeous and charismatic, not as someone who oozes sex appeal and confidence. I see him as a survivor, someone who's been where I have been; sitting where I have sat, felt the hopelessness I've felt. He didn't volunteer for his games, he didn't ask for what he was dealt. But he still fought. And he won.

The pressure in my chest increases further, spreading through my like poison.

Do I try? Is it too late for me to try? Is it too late for me to learn skills in survival, in combat? A lump in my throat forms. Could I kill someone? To live, could I do it?

Finnick's eyes bore into mine, as if knowing the calculation inside of my head in this moment, like he knows I'm weighing my options, wondering if I'll give up or if I'll fight.

I nod my head to him. Finnick nods in return.

It is settled, then.

I will fight.

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><p><strong>Notes: I hope you like chapter two. :) Thanks for reading!<br>-Cee**


	3. Chapter Three: Midnight Spirits

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any rights to The Hunger Games. All rights go to Suzanne Collins. I just play with her creations. :)**

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><p><strong>The Victor Who Went Mad<br>Chapter Three: Midnight Spirits**

After dinner, we all sit to wait to watch the Reapings and to see whom we're up against. Finnick sits on the couch next to me, his arm touching mine. I smile to myself, thinking how any other girl in Panem would swoon if they were in my position.

Maybe I am swooning a little. Maybe if I weren't so caught up in everything else, like biding my time until I'm put in an Arena to fight to the death, I would be absolutely besotted with Finnick Odair.

But for now, he's a comfort; my mentor. A very young and charming mentor.

He sees me smiling and says:

"What are you smiling about, little Annie?" His tone is playful. He hands me a pen and paper; he had instructed me and Nixon at dinner to write down all I can about the tributes, so we can go over them together and size up their strengths.

I turn to look into those ocean green eyes. They are a beautiful color. I decide to go ahead and tell him what I'm thinking. My life is undoubtedly too short to keep harmless secrets. I was never good at hiding things anyway.

"I was thinking of all the girls in Panem who would be lovesick fools if they had the chance to sit next to you." I shrug, acting like it was absolutely no big deal, like I was unimpressed with the legendary sex symbol.

Finnick laughs, and it's a deep, lush sound. It makes the hairs on my neck stand on end….but not in a bad way. I wait for Finnick to comment on this, but he doesn't. He just nudges me in the side, smiles again, and turns to the television where the Capital anthem begins to play.

I look to Nixon and Mags sitting together, where she is motioning to him to watch the television. Every time I look at Nixon, I feel a knot in my stomach.. And once I start seeing my fellow tributes, I know I want to help Nixon in any way I can.

District 1's volunteer tributes, Rogue and Solange, are just as glamorous as one would expect from the Luxury District. Solange: Seventeen year old girl, gorgeous auburn hair, teasing bright blue eyes that I can see even from the tv, and a body that Jemma would be envious of. Rogue: eighteen years old with raven black hair, strong build, and dimples that tease when he smile. He looks into the camera with such confidence, such…sensuality. He's making love to the camera, for sure. There is always that one tribute whose the heart breaker. I jot down their names on my paper along with their age.

District 2's volunteer tributes are interesting. Twins Onyx and Lenyx.

"I see what they did there," Finnick says to Mags, who nods.

"See what?" I ask.

"They're trying to play off of siblings Gloss and Cashmere from District One."

"Cashmere won the year before you won, didn't she?" I ask

He nods. "And Gloss the year before her. Anyway, as I'm sure you're aware of, they have a lot of fans."

They do. I mean, every victor is at least somwhat popular, but then you have the Finnicks and Cashmeres and Enobarias. The ones who made such a huge impression that will never be forgotten, whose face you'll always see. Mags seems to read my thoughts and says:

"And these two," Mags indicates to the screen, "will got a lot of sponsors' just by the fact that they're twins."

I look back to the screen. Onyx and Lenyx, eighteen, both have dirty blond hair and coal black eyes. They look murderous. Onyx is huge and muscular and Lenyx, while slim, looks like she could break my neck like a twig. I feel a shiver run down my spine.

I blush when I see myself on tv. I feel even worse when they have to replay my response to hearing my name.

Unike Onyx, Lennox, Solange, and Rogue, who all immediately catch your eye, I look like a skinny little girl who could blow away with a gust of wind. I don't look sexy, nor mysterious, nor strong. I just look ridiculous and weak.

"'Yes?'" I see myself look up, confused. The commentators chuckle and make some joke about me being distracted. I feel my chest tightening. Then I'm up on the platform, tears in my eyes.

Everyone will think I'm unstable, a freak.

"Don't stress it." Finnick says gently.

"It makes me look stupid," I say through gritted teeth. "Stupid and spacey. Like I'm in another planet. No one is going to see me as a threat."

"You still have the Opening Ceremony, personal evaluations, and your interview with Caeser to make an impression, okay? We just have to figure out what your angle is…but we'll get to that later."

I nod, and keep writing down names, and the list keeps growing.

Malik and Circe from District 3.

Knox and Phoebe from District 5.

Bray, Skona, Quinn, Rhine, Penny.

There are so many of them. So many faces! Some of them are small and so fragile looking. District 12's Kol and Lilah both are so obviously malnourished, their cheekbones jutting out. District 9's thirteen-year-old Dru, whose adorable face and freckles make my heart ache.

"Finnick?" I whisper when the screen goes black.

"Yes?"

"How do you do it?" My voice sounds so small. "How do you kill innocent lives?" I'm sure he's been asked a thousand times. I'm sure he's sick of hearing it. I know it's probably a pointless question, but I need to know.

Finnick is silent, his lips pursed. I think he's going to ignore me.

"In the Arena…it's different." He says, staring at the floor. "You wont understand what I mean until you're there. But it changes. The adrenaline, the fear…your instincts take over and you do things you never thought you could."

I think back to when I watched Finnick's Games. I think of his first victim, a fifteen-year-old girl. I saw that trident go through her abdomen, saw the shock in her eyes as she realized what had happened, saw the blood widen and widen into a large circle around her wound, saw her cough up red and fall face down into the ground. Finnick had fell to his knees, a vacant, lost look in his eyes. Like he couldn't believe what he had just done.

I don't say anything else about it and neither does he. When the screen goes black, Lynx suggests Nixon and me get some sleep. We're supposed to be arriving in the Capital late tomorrow morning. I try not to think about that too much tonight.

I return to my room, slip into a pretty nightgown that I find in the drawer, and get into the bed.

I don't sleep; I don't have any medicine this time to pull me under. I toss and turn, just like the night before Reaping. That anxiety had nothing on what I felt now. My eyes sting and I pretend I'm back at home in my own bed. But I know it's pointless. After what feels like an hour of this I growl in frustration and get out of the bed because if I lie there any longer I'm going to scream.

I step into the hall and find it dark. I don't know what I think I'm doing; there's nowhere to go. Then I remember passing the bar car earlier in the day. I've never tried alcohol but I hear it can help relax you. I'll try anything.

I tread quietly on the toes of my feet, walking past the car where we watched the Reapings, the dining car, the car where we boarded the train, and finally the bar car. It's dark in here also except for the dimmed sconces adorning the walls. There are also more sofas in here. I head straight for the liquor cabinet and peer inside of it.

I have no idea what is what.

Brandy, whisky, vodka, rum, gin; the list goes on. I go ahead and take the whiskey, liking the color of it. I grab a glass and pour the amber colored liquid into it. I take a whiff. It smells really strong.

_Here goes nothing._

I take a drink and gasp. It burns! I can feel the hot liquid sliding down my throat, warming it the whole way. Now I'm coughing.

I hear a familiar rich laughter and whip around to see Finnick lounging in one of the chairs, a glass of his own in his hand.

"Finnick!" I exclaim, my eyes widening. He's still wearing his clothes from earlier, which means he hasn't been to bed at all.

"Had a sudden craving for whiskey, did you?" He asks, his smile apparent in the dim lighting. Suddenly, I'm scared that this is against some kind of rule. He waves his hand, seeing my expression. "Don't worry, Ann. I'm good at keeping secrets." He takes a swig from his glass.

I exhale, relief running through me like the alcohol is, which is still bitter in my mouth.

Finnick gestures to the seat across him. I take him up on the offer and sit, pulling down the hem of my nightgown. It seems inches shorter now than when I put it on earlier. I'm glad I had the mind to shave my legs earlier.

I take another swallow of the drink. It doesn't taste better the second time. I grimace again, sticking out my tongue. Finnick laughs even harder this time and stands up.

"Here, hand it over." He says, holding out his hand for my drink. "I'll get you something you might like better."

"Oh," I say and hand him the drink.

He walks to the cabinet and rummages through it. Then he says, "Ah, here we go." I hear the clinking sound of bottle to glass rim, and he's back with another amber colored drink.

"Try this," he passes the drink to me, and our fingers graze. I'm surprised by the tiny shock that goes through my hand at the touch. "It's still going to be strong, but it tastes a lot better."

"What is it called?"

"Schnapps. It comes in a lot of different flavors."

I sniff it, and the smell is warmer and a lot more enticing. "What flavor is this?"

"It's called butterscotch."

"Never heard of it."

"It's good," he says. "Try it."

I do, and while Finnick is right in it still being strong, it tastes great. It's a very unique flavor to my pallet, and I find myself taking another sip. And another. Soon, I'm feeling warm all over.

"So…" I say, unable to think of any topic for conversation that doesn't revolve around the Games. And I don't want to talk about the Games right now. I just want to drink my alcohol and talk about something nicer than my imminent death.

At the word _death_ in my head, images start to flash of what seems like a thousand different ways of me being killed. With a sword, my throat slit, dagger through my chest, spear through my stomach, arrow in my head, being choked to death by Onyx, being drowned in a river by Lennox, my neck snapped, being stabbed repeatedly..

I continue to drink, like it will wash away the horrific images in my mind.

"So…" he mimics me, bringing me back to the present. I focus on his face and nothing else, refusing to let more gruesome visions of my death to continue.

"So, Finnick."

He grins. "Yes?"

"I uh," I stutter. His smile is really pretty. Have I never really noticed it before? "I don't see you around Four a lot. Never, actually. I never see you." I'm rambling a little.

"Yeah, I don't spend a lot of time home anymore."

"Why not?" I take another drink. It burns less and less.

"Business…" Finnick says quietly, swigging down the rest of his alcohol.

I feel like I've said something to upset him a little, so I change the subject.

"What's your favorite fish?"

At this, he smiles. "To eat or to admire?"

"What's the difference?" I ask.

"Well, I love eating eel, but I love the way Orange Spotted Sunfish look."

My mouth opens. "You like eel?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Ugh, I hate eel." I shudder. "I hate the way they look, their texture, the flavor. It's a swimming snake!"

"Okay, well, what's your favorite fish to eat then?"

"Red Drum," I say. "My father is a canner but when he isn't working, he takes…took me out fishing with him. I'd get so excited when I saw we got a Red Drum. We made it a game to see how many we could catch…"

I drink more Schnapps, tears stinging my eyes gain. I don't know if it's from the spirits or the memories.

"We'd spend hours out there, just the two of us," I continue. "And then when we brought our catches home, Mom would clean them up and cook them for us. Being an only child, my parents are the only family I have. All of my grandparents are dead, and no aunts and uncles that I know of. They're all I have. I'm all they have.."

_And they're going to lose me. I wonder if they'll decide to have another baby once I'm gone._

_No._ A firm voice says in the back of my mind. _You're not giving up, remember? You're going to fight._

I glance at Finnick, hoping he didn't notice the escape of a couple of tears. He doesn't press further with my memories of my family, for which I'm grateful. Suddenly I wonder if he has family. I try to remember the interviews that they would have done with his family during his Games, but I can't. Does he even have family? I want to ask badly but I bite my tongue. It's none of my business. I opened up voluntarily.

I swig down the last of my drink, and I've gone from feeling warm to burning up. It's spreading through my chest, my legs and arms, fingers and toes. My head is heavy. I pull my hair up from my shoulders and to the top of my head with one hand, fanning my face with the other.

"Am I supposed to start sweating?" I ask, a little alarmed. I feel it beading on my head, the back of my neck, in between my breasts; everywhere.

"It's common," Finnick assures me, his eyes flickering from my face to my neck, I think. "I wouldn't recommend a second glass, though. We don't want you drunk, do we?"

"I guess not."

"But you'd like to be, wouldn't you?"

"Well, I just wonder what it feels like."

"It's not that wonderful, to be honest."

"You drink a lot?"

"Sometimes," he says. "It's relaxing. But I'm careful. I don't want to end up like old Haymitch."

"Haymitch Abernathy?" I ask.

Finnick nods, and in my mind's eye I see the perpetually drunk mentor from District 12. It must be hard, being the only victor there. Obviously he isn't doing too a good a job, since not one tribute from 12 has won since he won the games twenty years ago. But it's not really his fault at all.

I'm trying to remember how and when he won his games but my head is swimming. I put a hand to my forehead, moaning. "This feels weird."

Finnick stands, offering me his hand. "Come on, you little lush. Back to bed."

I take his hand and find it warm. Again, little sparks shoot up my nerves that I can't explain. I stand, and I realize standing up close to him how much taller he is than me. The top of my head barely reaches his the top of his chest. When I inhale, I smell whatever cologne he has on him. It smells more intoxicating than the alcohol running through my veins.

"You smell nice," I say. I didn't mean to say it out loud. I should be embarrassed. I'm not. These spirits are intense. They make me feel bolder.

"Why, thank you." He says in a low, seductive voice. He flashes me one of his famous smiles and takes my upper arm in his hand and gently leads me from the car.

"You're welcome," I reply. And he's laughing again.

"What? What is so funny?"

"You," he says. "Your politeness and your innocence. It's a rare thing. Hold onto that. In fact, that's who you're going to be your angle. Just be you. I'll talk to your stylists tomorrow and tell them not to make you over into something you're not."

We're outside of my door now, and I look up at Finnick. Up close, his face is even more beautiful. The camera, as much as it picks up his features, doesn't do him justice.

"But will they like me?"

"I'll do everything I can to make sure they love you," he says, serious now. "That's a promise. Now get some sleep."

I nod and walk into my room.

"Goodnight, Finnick Odair."

"Goodnight, Annie Cresta."

I close the door and fall into bed, feeling safe in the fact that I have someone to help me.

I sleep hard.


	4. Chapter Four: Siren

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any rights to The Hunger Games trilogy (obviously). All rights belong to Suzanne Collins. I just play with her creations.  
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* * *

><p><strong>The Victor Who Went Mad<strong>

**Chapter Four: Siren**

The sun is just beginning to rise when Lynx pounds on the door and gleefully pulls me from my precious sleep. I know I slept hard, but it doesn't feel like I had enough. I'm not sure what time is was when Finnick dragged me to my bedroom. I'm relieved that I have no after effects from the spirits I drank last night. It was a stupid thing to do. I think about my conversation with my mentor and find myself wishing we could have talked just a bit longer. I have to remind myself that he isn't here to be a friend that I can stay up all night talking to. He's here to teach me about the Games and to help keep me alive. But isn't someone whose goal is to keep you alive sort of like a friend?

I shake the thoughts from my head as I change and brush my teeth. I'm taken off guard when I see a tube of toothpaste. I've never even used it before; my family can't afford that commodity. Instead, we just use sea salt an alternative. This stuff, however, is a fluffy cloud of yellow colored paste that I'm almost afraid to put in my mouth. But after smelling my horrible morning breath, I decide to go ahead and try it. I gag. It's flavored like some kind of fruit...perhaps bananas. Where do these people come up with these ideas?

After my mouth is cleansed in banana paste, I pick out something to wear, which I don't really look at as I'm putting it on. I know once we arrive in the Capitol I'll be whisked off to my stylist anyway.

Speaking of my stylist, Mags has some words of warning when I meet everyone in the dining car. She pulls me aside before we sit down at the table for breakfast.

"I just thought you should know what to expect when we get there," she explains, the wrinkles between her eyes creasing even further in concern. "They will allow you no privacy. No modesty. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

I expected it, but the certainty does nothing to calm my nerves. No one has ever seen me naked— unless you count my parents when I was a child. But it doesn't count. No one has seen my body since it's gone through its changes.

I remember when they started, when I was around twelve. Hips widening, breasts forming, hair growing. I was so horrified when my bleeding began; I knew it was coming because my mother had talked to me about it; but not even that could prepare me for the terror of having your first menstrual cycle. It took me a while to adjust to the transformation that had taken place inside and outside of me, from going to a girl to a young woman. I was even surprised when I really began to notice boys and begin to wonder what it'd be like to have them touch me. It was something that had never even crossed my mind.

So now, when I'm being told that my femininity is going to be exposed to a group of strangers, I stare at Mags in horror.

"Oh," is all I manage to say.

I burn with humiliation. Mags looks distraught; I know she feels my pain. But there's nothing she can do for me. I just have to get over it. I just have to let them see me in a way I haven't let anybody see me. I guess I'm not supposed to care. I don't even know why I'm appalled. Of course they don't care if they strip me down and humiliate me. Of course I will have no privacy. They're going to kill me. When I think about it like that, being naked in front of them only makes sense. My body, my life, is no longer mine. Maybe not even my soul.

_No. My soul is mine._

"Just think of something nice while it's happening…distract your mind." Mags suggests.

I want to scoff. What is there nice to think about right now? The only things that are nice are memories of home and they're too painful to think about.

We take our seats at the table. I don't even know what they're serving us. I pick at my plate, the mixture of embarrassment and anger swirling inside me, fighting for dominance. Anger wins for the moment. I don't speak to anyone, not even when Finnick tries to lighten the tension around the table with a joke. I just stare at my plate.

"Now, we should be arriving in the Capitol in twenty minutes," announces Lynx at the head of the table, her whiskers looking especially orange today. "You'll be escorted to the Remake Center, where you'll meet your stylists and they'll decide on a look for you. Then, they'll put you in your costume for the Opening Ceremony where you'll ride on your chariots to the City Circle."

I wonder if she ever gets tired to hearing herself talk. I certainly do. I feel like making some kind of sarcastic reply but I bite my tongue. It won't do me any good. I just have to try and get over this new sour mood I've developed.

I leave the table not long after that, going to sit by one of the windows in the dining car. I stare out, watching the blur of colors as the sun begins to rise, wishing some horrific accident would happen and the train crashed and blew up so we'd never arrive to our destination.

But when the whole car goes black and we're plunged into darkness, I know we're getting close. The tunnel doesn't last long and before I know it we're there.

The Capitol is even more impressive than on television. I feel my eyes widening as I stare out of the glass, taking in the tall multicolored skyscrapers that adorn every block. It's beautiful, I have to admit. But I can't imagine growing up in a place like this. I would feel so claustrophobic in there, never seeing grass. All those buildings and people surrounding me all the time. No trees, no water. I mean, they have built a large lake; I can see it from here. But it's not the same as the ocean.

And then, as we arrive at the train station, my eyes are bombarded with a multitude of bright colors. I have to blink to make sure I'm seeing them all correctly. Blue hair, purple skin, magenta clothing, green feathers adorning yellow hats, gems in the place of eyebrows, elongated ears with several piercings. Every color imaginable is present. And all the colors are shouting. The people, rather. The people are shouting. It's kind of hard to separate the two.

But they don't shout our names.

"FINNICK!"

"Finnick, I LOVE you!"

"Finnick!"

Finnick Finnick Finnick! They're mad for him. Some of the woman are up against the window of the train, desperate to be close to him. I knew these people were eccentric, but this...

It's utter madness. They're crazy. They all have this desperate look in their eyes, hungrily watching him. It's disturbing. And it makes me angry. It's as if Nixon or I do not exist at all. They don't care a thing about us. I know my first impression at the Reaping wasn't fabulous but I thought they might have some sympathy for Nixon, at least.

I turn to Finnick. He's beside me at the window, waving and blowing kisses and winking to the crowd. The pandemonium only increases when they realize they have his attention. I gasp when one woman pulls up her blouse to reveal her breasts to him. I look away then, disgusted.

I have entered a whole other planet of rabid animals.

I stand next to Nixon, whose eyes are as big as the bows from which his name was Reaped. He's in as much shock as I am. I look at him, and he looks at me. We share our fear and our confusion about this horrible place with a simple look. I don't know this boy at all. I'd never seen him before the Reaping. But the sudden surge of affection I have for him in startling. He is just like me. I take his hand and give it a squeeze, wishing I could do something for him. Wishing I could do something for me.

"Come to the window," Finnick instructs, glancing at us.

"I don't think I can..." My heart begins to pound. Every instinct tells me to run away from this place. But I can't run. "They don't even notice we're here, anyway."

"Make them notice."

"How?"

"Just smile and be charming," he says and gestures us forward. We hesitantly obey and step to the glass.

"Act like they're all your new best friends." Finnick instructs.

He makes it sound so easy. It must be easy for him. It _is _easy for him. I don't have that kind of charm. But I give it my best shot and begin to wave and put on what I hope is my sweetest smile. Next to me, Nixon is waving his hand awkwardly and his smile almost looks like it's a grimace.

A younger woman in the hoard of colors points my way and grins excitedly. She waves her gloved hand back and calls, "Hi, Annie!" Thankfully she does not remove her clothes.

It's a ripple effect. The others seemed to have noticed and begin to chime in, calling Nixon's name as well. I wonder if they even remember that he's deaf and can't hear them say his name. But regardless of everything and my dislike of their animistic behavior, this is a good sign for us. I feel a surge of hope and my smile and waves are more animated. I even let out a laugh which I'm sure is from relief.

"It's working!" I turn around to tell Finnick, but he's disappeared. I guess he thought leaving would help.

It did.

"Annie!"

"Nixon!"

This is when I learn that the people of the Capitol are demented and fickle creatures whose favor blows this way and that like the wind.

_May the odds be ever in your favor._

Lynx is gathering us up to leave, and before I know it we're off the train and being hauled by Peacekeepers to the Remake Center. Outside the train, the cheers from the crowd are even louder, and Peacekeepers have to restrain them. For the first time in my life, I'm comforted by Peacekeepers.

We're separated from Mags and Finnick then, going up an elevator that opens into a large lobby. They cart Nixon off on way and me the other. That's when I meet the first Capital citizens in person besides Lynx.

My prep team consists of three young women. Greer, Mina, and Aphrodite.

Greer is the most polite, even if she does have sparkly black horns protruding from her temples.

"You have a very nice complexion!" She praises me. "And your eyes are just stunning!"

When the time comes to strip, I try to do as Mags said and think of something doesn't work. I'm completely aware of everything. They circle me, making remarks that make my face so hot I can feel the blood pumping in my cheeks.

"Her breasts are very well formed," Mina remarks. "How old are you?"

"S-seventeen…" I stutter, fighting back my arms that want to cover myself. My hands are clenched into fists at my sides.

_I will not cry. I will not cry. I will ___not ___cry._

"For living in District Four, she really doesn't have a lot of freckling."

"We must do something with her hair."

"Not until Olive sees her."

Then they hose me down and wash me, scrub me, rub scented lotions into my skin. They buff the rough skin off my feet and I remember Finnick remarking about his prep team doing the same to him when he first arrived at the Capitol five years ago.

_Finnick got through it. I can too. I can do this._

They clean underneath my fingernails and toenails, trim them, smooth them, remove dead skin around them. I never knew how much work could be done on just your nails alone.

They lather up my hair in a shampoo that I actually really enjoy the scent of. They lather it again after they rinse the first time.

"Look at all the sand in her hair!" Greer says. "Do you swim in the ocean a lot?" It's the first question any of them have asked me.

"Um," I mumble. "Yes, I do."

"Ugh," Aphrodite grimaces. "Sounds so unsanitary."

I say no more on the matter. Greer is now massaging in some kind of conditioner into my scalp and hair now and it feels nice. For a moment I close my eyes and savor the pleasant moment while it lasts.

It's a good thing I did.

One of the worst parts is when they tend to my teeth. They floss it and brush it and make me swish this stuff around in my mouth that tastes like berries this time.. They even scrub my tongue! I gag the whole time and Aphrodite rolls her eyes.

Then comes the most painful. The "waxing," as they call it. Now I know what Mags meant when she warned about them removing hair. They don't shave, oh no. They do it in a way that hurts, naturally.

My armpits, my arms, my breasts, my tummy, my legs, my bottom, my eyebrows (which they thankfully leave some hair behind), and worst of all, my private area. It's humiliating and excruciating. They seem almost amused by how much of a reaction I have to it.

"The more you do it, the less it hurts," comments Mina. "Kind of like sex."

"That's only when your partner has no idea what he's doing," says Aphrodite as she's ripping a patch of hair from in between my legs. The tears are pouring down my face. I don't even try to tell myself not to try now. I couldn't stop them if I tried to. "My first time was very pleasurable!"

They go on and on about sex while my legs are spread wide open like it is no big deal. I want to die. I want to die right now. I don't want to wait for the games. Let me die.

Finally, they allow me to put on a paper gown at wait for my actual stylist, Olive. I sit on the table, trying to stop the tears. But my skin, despite lotions they put on it to help the stinging, is on fire.

Almost over. I think it's almost over.

Olive walks in and I'm taken aback by how lovely she looks. Even with her powder pink hair that fluffs around her head like a cloud, she's still one of the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. She has tiny gems embedded above her eyes to replace eyebrows just like the ones I saw at the station. They must be the height of fashion right now. She also wears contact lenses that turn her eyes into a rainbow. She appears to be in her late twenties and seems a bit more reserved than my prep team, thank goodness.

"Oh, my..." She takes in my tear streaked face and walks over to take my cheeks in her heads, which are pleasantly warm. I think she's going to comment on how I shouldn't cry because it makes me look ugly or something of the like. But instead she says: "You're a doll, my sweet. Absolutely gorgeous."

I can't tell if she's being sincere or not. Regardless, I say: "Thank you."

She orders us lunch and while we eat, she goes over her plans with me.

"Now, Finnick talked to me and told me he thought it best if we kept you sweet and simple," she begins, taking a sip of her drink. "I _partially_ agree. I think while we should maintain your sweet disposition, we need to a touch of feminine allure. How do you feel about that?"

She's asking me for an opinion? I was under the impression tributes didn't even have opinions.

"Well...I'm not very good at being..." I search for the correct word. "Enticing."

I try to think of a time where I even tried to initiate flirting with anyone and came up empty. It just didn't happen for me. All the boys I knew thought of me as a someone they needed to protect, like a sister. No boy has ever been enchanted with me because I don't want them to. I like not being the center of everyone's attention. I leave that to Jemma and live vicariously through her world of drama and boys. I don't know how to be what Olive wants me to be.

She laughs, and it's a nice sound. "You still can be yourself, Annie. I just want to play on your beauty a bit. We'll make them see a girl who doesn't realize just how magnificent she is. They'll think it's charming."

"How do you know that?" I ask, skeptical.

Olive smiles knowingly. "I'm one of these people, dear. I know how they think."

She calls the prep the back in and they all begin to make me over for the opening ceremonies.

Olive trims two inches off of my hair because apparently the ends are very dry. Then the prep team are doing what they call "highlighting" to my hair. They're dying strands a honey blonde color. And since Olive says she want my hair super long for the Opening Ceremonies, she adds in extensions of hair that match the highlights so it falls in waves clear down to my belly button.

Then they begin to paint my face and shade it to their liking. They also stencil swirling blue and green patterns all over my body. Especially on my back and stomach area.

Aphrodite brings in my costume then. Which consists of a shiny, long, flowing skirt and nothing else. At once I'm on high alert.

"Where's the rest of it?" I can hear the panic in my voice. I've seen a lot of Opening Ceremonies. Enough to know that they don't think twice about sending you out there with little to no clothes. I know she wants to play on my "beauty" but...

Olive smiles. "Don't worry, you'll be covered. It's why I wanted the long hair!" She says it so excitedly. "We'll part it down the middle and it will fall over your chest. We're making you a siren, an old mythological creature that lured sailors with their beauty and their singing. And then they killed them."

"So much for keeping me sweet..."

"Trust me, it'll pay off."

I put on the flowing skirt that feels like petals against my legs. Up close I see tiny seashells of all colors have been embedded into the fabric. They part my hair and cover my breasts, but the valley in between in bare and they go ahead and stencil in a pattern there as well. I cough when Mina starts spraying a cold liquid in my hair.

"It'll make your hair wet," explains Greer. "Only this stuff wont dry like the water would."

I'm thankful for whatever this stuff is because it makes my hair denser and heavier, thus hopefully giving me more coverage and preventing it from flying all over the place.

I think my hair is finished but then Aphrodite sprays a misty like substance on it that makes it sparkle. And then more small seashells are placed randomly in my locks. AND they add in some kind of sea shell crown looking thing. I'm so sick of sitting in this chair but they just keep on working. Fake eyelashes are added, my finger and toe nails are painted and adorned with -guess what?- more tiny shells. I'm ecstatic when they finally let me stand and look at myself in the mirror. Of course I have no idea who it is that is staring back at me. But she is alluringly beautiful. And half naked. I turn around so I can take a look at my bare back. The detail of the patterns they've painted on me is very pretty. They go all the way to my low back wrap around to my pubic bones and disappear into my skirt. Suggestive, just like everyone else about this look.

Especially since the hair only covers me so much. The curve in the sides of my breasts are clearly visible.

"Okay, let's go!"

Olive leads me to where the chariots are held and I see Nixon appearing with his stylist whose features are so distorted I can't even being to describe him. But Nixon himself looks nice. They've kept his hair his natural bleached blonde, but have trimmed it up a little bit. It's messy looking and also damp like mine, like he's just been out of the water. His costume...well, I'm not sure what he's supposed to be. But he has a shirt on, for which I'm jealous.

The moment he sees me his eyes go wide. I blush. This is going to be a long night.

We both get up onto the chariot and thankfully Nixon has composed himself. When he looks at me, I can tell he's being purposeful to keep his eyes trained on my face.

I have no idea what to say. So I just smile. He smiles back, a blush appearing on his cheeks. He quickly faces forward.

It's the first time I've ever made a boy blush. Figures it would have to be because so exposed.

"Annie," says Olive, stepping to my side of the chariot. "I want you to give small smiles and seem bashful. Look down a lot and flick your eyes back up." She demonstrates and I suppose the effect is suppose to seem shy but flirtatious. "And wave, but don't go throwing any kisses. And if they throw you flowers, act delighted and surprised."

She's really put a lot of thought into this. Way more thought than I would have ever considered myself. I thought you just went out there and waved while trying not to fall out of your chariot.

District 2's Lennox and Onyx are getting on their chariot. I make the mistake of making eye contact with Lennox, whose black eyes gleam maliciously back as she breaks into a beautiful and terrible smile, a smile that promises dreadful things coming my way. Then she makes a gesture next to her chest and points to me, laughing before she turns around. I look down in confusion and see a chunk of hair came out of place and revealed a sliver of flesh. I quickly correct it and wonder why she even bothered tipping me off to it.

The opening music begins so loudly I jump. Nixon looks at me, perplexed. I cup my hands over my ears and mouth, _"The music is loud."_

Then the giant doors open three chariots ahead of us and that's when they adrenaline beings to pump through my veins. I can hear the roaring Capital citizens even over the loud music. The grey horses leading our chariot being to move, and we're whisked off into the heart of the Capitol.


End file.
